How they feel
by Kelly Greyer
Summary: What they feel and have to go through being young mutants


Disclaimer: Everybody knows it, I don't own a thing.

Just so you know: Anywho, this is actually two short stories that I've written and combined, this first one is called the kids who feel like dead ends, and the second, how they feel they are seperated by the little line thingy but it is still all one story here so that doesn't matter. Basically it's told in not really one specific point of view but really just from all of the main young characters of X-men who are like 18 and under like Jean, Scott, Kitty, Rouge, Bobby, Kurt, you know all of those guys (and then some) it's pretty much how they feel and what they go through because they are mutants, but you get the point so I'm going to shut up and let you read.

* * *

You can only be a has-been if you made it before, and we never have, not once. We're worthless and reckless, we are less and that's all. Poets, writers, dreamers. But it didn't mean anything, you didn't make a living off of what you were going to do, nobody would read your stories because they're to busy ignoring you, and us poets are just kids who didn't make it and never had it at all. Don't talk the next time you see one of us, but then again you never do. You've never "seen" us and you never will. But not because we don't want you to, because you don't want to. 

Everyday you walk, and you look. But it always seems as if your gaze just misses us, not even acknowledging we're there as you step on our papers that we've dropped laughing with your friends. We're useless and you wish everyday we'd never wake again, and so do we.

We fail because you never want us to succeed, I fall because you pushed me, and we run because you chase us away, I bleed because you hate me, we breathe because you want us to suffer. And now as you're shaking your head denying every bit of it you push us back down and we can't, no, we won't fight you.

We can't do anything right, or so you say. And there it goes again, you shake your head and another lie slips and another life slips. But as it happens, you ask yourself "Why?" Why a lot of things. Why am I saying this, why do I feel like this, but most importantly you ask, "Why can't you? Why can't you act like this? Why can't you be like them?" And we answer "Because we don't want to, that's why." So take your pity and shove it somewhere until you can't breathe.

They call kids like us that fight back vicious, they call the ones who only bring out the truth carved out of stone. And it's because you don't want to face it at all, but you don't realize why you're walking away, that for what those kids have become they only feel more alone. And we don't want your help and we don't need your help, but what do you expect, we're lost causes and dead ends. Still less, no matter what. Since my conscience has called in sick again there's a smile and on the other side, a look of anger. And they notice people scramble and flutter all around them like butterflies, but they stay. They'll laugh, but not at you, at themselves because there they are once again on the outside looking in. And as a tear runs silently down there cheek they'll turn, walk away, and laugh again, but this time, at themselves because you will always be the same.

* * *

They're all has-beens and never-weres. They look in separate mirrors and go in separate directions, but they all feel the same. You want to believe it's because of you, so you have something to hold over their heads, but no, it's not you, it's not you at all. 

You're not the reason they can't sleep at night. You're not the reason they have those people and only those people surrounding them all the time. And it's not your fault that they hear every bitter word spoken against them, every word towards them, and every word behind them. No, no, no, it's not you, you hardly even matter. It's their fault, and it's that simple and that complicated and that confusing. It's because they want to hear perfectly unhidden words you say and laugh about. They want to see those glares that burn holes through their backs, they want to feel your hands that imprint pain to their brains, so no, it's not you.

It's not you hating them just because you don't know any better, or walking in the other direction because you don't want to risk them talking, or even looking at you, and it's not you hating their hearts for pumping blood through their bodies keeping them alive….it's them, it's all them. It's them hating themselves first and last and when you do it, it confirms what they already think.

So when they can't sleep, it's because they're up all night crying their eyes out, they have only those people around them because they're afraid to be rejected by others. And don't worry about them talking to you when you pass them in the hall, they won't because they never know you do, or maybe they do but they refuse to notice because they're just so busy hating themselves.

* * *

Please review I'd like that very much:) 


End file.
